


Dreams, Desire and Desperation

by blue_jack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>No. They allowed you to escape. You had already been defiled.</i> For selvatori for help_pakistan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams, Desire and Desperation

_He shivers as he stumbles into his room, can't stop, and he realizes vaguely that something’s wrong, because it's almost ninety degrees outside, even in the middle of the night. But the larger part of him doesn't care, just wants to be warm again, and it's all he can do to strip off his clothes before stepping into the shower, the water as hot as he can make it._

"Dean."

He twitched, binoculars almost falling from his hand as he whirled around. "Damn it, Cas! Stop doing that!" He couldn't summon the usual level of annoyance, couldn't even look at Cas for more than a few seconds before he turned back to the window, pretending to keep track of the minor demon who was waiting for who knew what several buildings down.

"That was the third time I called your name." Cas’ voice was mild as always, nothing to hint he was uncomfortable with seeing Dean.

"Yeah, well, obviously you didn't say it loud enough," he muttered, had to bring the binoculars back up to hide the fact that he'd closed his eyes. He hadn't had that problem. He'd been loud. So fucking loud. Had moaned and begged—

“—discovered information relevant to your current case. Dean. You are preoccupied.”

“I’m not—I’m in the middle of surveillance right now!” he said, eyes snapping open. He adjusted the focus to emphasize his point. “I can’t stop just because you show up!”

“You have not hesitated to do so in the past.”

“In order to avoid the fucking Apocalypse!” He turned to Cas. “Er . . . this isn’t another one of those, is it?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Dean had to contain a frustrated sigh at Cas’ too serious expression, at the . . . innocence . . . on his face. It didn’t matter all the evils they’d faced, all the demons they’d killed. Even the—even the sex hadn’t touched the basic purity at the heart of him. Which just made Dean feel like a dick for his decidedly impure thoughts.

Fucking hell.

“What is it you wanted to tell me?” he asked Cas and tried not to think of anything that didn’t have to do with the devil outside.

\-----

 _“I can sense the taint of a demon about you.”_   
  
_“Th-there was a d-d-demon with them,” he says, his teeth chattering so hard that he wonders if Cas can even understand him. “B-b-but I man-managed to g-get out of there b-before they could—”_   
  
_“No. They allowed you to escape. You had already been defiled.”_

Night time was the worst. His dreams were—they were impossible. The images were too vivid, too real. He could hear the sounds he was making, could taste the faintest tinge of blood from where he’d bitten his lip, could smell the heavy cloud of sex with each breath.

When they had first started, weeks and weeks ago, he’d been so confused, had woken wide-eyed and sweat-drenched, so fucking hard that the drag of the sheet against his cock had almost been enough to finish what the dream had started. And that had just been the first one.

A mistake, he’d thought. Something—his subconscious fucking with him because of all the time he’d been spending with—with, hell, he hadn’t even seen the other guy’s face clearly. It could’ve been anyone. And it didn’t matter who it’d been. He didn’t even care, because it had been an, an aberration. Every guy thought about it at least once. So what if his had been particularly . . . detailed. He’d always had a good imagination, too good obviously since he’d never—he would never—

It hadn’t meant anything. He’d gone out, played some football, watched some porn and masturbated to it with very satisfying results, had drunken a few beers, and had woken the next morning with a dull headache, no other desire bothering him than a wish for some Tylenol.

It hadn’t meant _anything_.

The second dream a few days later, though, the second dream, there’d been no mistaking who he’d been with. And by the time he’d woken up, gasping and frantic, hands clawing at the sheet, it’d been too late. The evidence that he’d enjoyed what had happened had already cooling in his boxers.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dean had done what any red-blooded male would’ve done in his place. He’d spent the next three days forgoing sleep and fucking any woman who’d have him, and when he'd worried they wouldn't be enough, had dug into his pockets and visited a place that would ensure he’d be too exhausted and spent to dream about anything.

It hadn’t worked. If anything, the next dream had been even more intense, as if to emphasize there was no escaping it, that sex with anyone else couldn’t compare to—

He’d wondered, after the second time, after waking up with a phantom ache in his body that had taken several minutes to disappear, and even then, he could feel the echoes of sensation when he’d moved. But after the third occasion, when he’d woken with Cas’ name sliding through his thoughts, he’d known.

They weren’t just dreams. They were memories.

\-----

 _“Wh-what the h-h-h-hell are y-you—?”_  
  
 _“It is just a matter of time until you die.”_  
  
 _“Y-y-y-y—” He wants to say Cas is full of shit, but he can’t get past the first word._  
  
 _“Your shivering is much more noticeable than when I first arrived, and your stammering—”_  
  
 _“Sh-sh-shu—”_  
  
 _“The only way to save you is through sex—”_  
  
 _“_ What _?” There isn’t a trace of a stutter this time._

It was a relief to piece together the story. Enough dreams and snatches of conversation, and Dean had figured out what had happened. Wondering had almost driven him fucking crazy, because nowhere, not in any fucking universe or hell dimension, did he and Cas having sex make sense.

Except . . . when his life was on the line. Obviously.

Although that really said shitloads about his life, fuck it all.

But he'd never been interested in men before, wouldn't have even thought he could get it up in front of a naked guy who had any sort of _intentions_ , would probably have freaked out and decked someone if he'd tried to get too up close and personal in all honesty, even though the idea of gay sex didn't bother him, but the reality of a cock in his face would've been too much to handle.

Or so he would've thought.

He even remembered struggling at one point, arguing and shoving Cas away, as much as he could at any rate when he was shaking so hard that coordination had become difficult. And then there was one of those damn gaps in his memory, because then he was kissing Cas, yanking at his clothes and trying to mold himself to his body like he wanted to be sucked right in.

It just got fucking worse from there.

\-----

 _"You are dying."_   
  
_"I’m-m-m n-not, I—"_   
  
_"It is draining your life energy even as we speak. The longer you resist, the harder it will be to overcome its defenses."_   
  
_"S-sex—"_   
  
_"At its most fundamental level, sex is about creating life. In this particular situation, we can use it to not only maintain your life force but also replenish your reserves. The demon that infected you is too powerful for me to banish its poison as I would do for a lesser devil, powerful enough that it is likely even giving you my blood would be insufficient to heal you. Then, too, is the added danger that comes with a blood transfusion, as blood is linked more closely to death and sacrifice than generating life, and the type of energy manufactured during that kind of exchange is too volatile when you are this close to death."_   
  
_“Y-you don’t—I—C-Cas—”_   
  
_“I will not allow you to die, Dean.”_

He was relieved to discover he hadn’t turned as gay as a pink flamingo overnight. It took fuck tons more courage than he would’ve believed to go to the gym and watch partially and completely naked guys in order to see if there were going to be any sort of . . . reaction.

There wasn’t, thank fuck, not even when he played skins and tees basketball, pressing against and colliding with other men, or when he finally— _finally_ —talked himself into jumping into the communal showers. One of the most piss-in-his-pants frightening experiences of his life.

But it was fine. Or as fine as it could be considering. So yeah, he’d had a dick up his—he’d had some gay sex. Once. One time. It was all in the past, never to be repeated.

The dreams had to stop eventually, right? And as long as he didn’t remember everything and Cas never brought it up, then it was like it hadn’t happened. After all, it wasn’t like _Dean_ was ever going to mention anything. What the hell would he have said anyway? Thanks for the fuck and saving my life? The sex was fun, but I’m not ready for anything serious? It’s not you, it’s me?

Yeah, no.

He wasn’t looking for a second time, and Cas wasn't the type to want any kind of relationship anyway. Not with a human anyway. Although that did make Dean wonder if any angels had a sex life since they were technically capable . . .

Never mind. Not thinking about it.

\-----

 _Cas grabs his wrist, and he suddenly can’t move, not because of Cas’ hold on him, but because of how fucking_ hot _he is. Hot enough that for a second, Dean wants to jerk his arm back because he’s afraid he’s going to get another burn to match the one on his shoulder._  
  
 _Except . . . except then it’s not too hot anymore, it’s just heat, wonderful, amazing heat, and he thinks if he can just get more—more warmth, more Cas—that it’ll be perfect, it’ll be—_  
  
 _He gasps, flinches almost every time another patch of skin comes in contact with Cas as he starts to crowd him, but Cas doesn't move away, lets Dean press against him. It’s still not enough somehow, too many clothes and blankets in the way, too many things keeping him from Cas, and he’s going to go crazy, he’s going to lose it completely if he can’t get closer._

The problem was that the dreams didn’t stop. They didn’t stop, and after a while, Dean—he didn’t start looking forward to them; it wasn’t like that. But he . . .

The dreams had been going on for fucking _months_ , and he . . . he just stopped fighting them. And hadn’t _that_ been a surprise, because in general, Dean wasn’t the type of person to give up regarding anything, let alone something that should be freaking him the hell out no matter how many times he thought about it.

Maybe it would’ve been different if he’d had someone he could damn well blame, if he’d had something he could _fixate_ on. But even though he hadn’t remembered the sex, he’d remembered the night up until then, remembered escaping and Cas telling him days later that he’d destroyed the demon originally responsible for the whole fucked up mess, and what? Was he going to hate _Cas_ because he’d saved his life? (Alright, so he’d gone through a period of hating Cas on principle, but it’d been short, and he’d felt guilty about it afterward.)

And since trying to ignore it all wasn’t working worth a damn, and he wasn’t going to think about having sex with _Cas_ , the only thing he could concentrate on was the sex itself. And how the hell had it been the best sex he’d ever had? _How_ the _fucking_ hell? He’d had a girlfriend who’d liked to play with his ass sometimes, and it had made the sex pretty intense, but it wasn’t something he’d wanted every time they’d done it, and he hadn’t really missed it once they’d broken up. But in his dreams . . . he didn’t know if it was his mind playing tricks on him or what, but the sex had been—

Maybe it’d been because of the whole angel power thing coming in to play. Regular gay sex couldn’t be that good, right? Because he felt fucking cheated if that were the case.

He could find out. He could get some girl who was into kinky shit to do it to him, or he could even find some guy in a club who wouldn’t ask any questions at all, and then he’d have something to compare the memory to. He just . . . didn’t want to.

It would totally ruin his street cred for one thing if the news ever got out.

But more importantly, he didn’t trust anyone enough to be that vulnerable in front of them. There were really only two people in the world he could have any real faith in: his brother and—

Fuck.

He’d been grateful for it at first, but as more time went on, Dean had started getting annoyed that Cas never mentioned it. He got that it wasn’t the type of thing someone brought up in regular conversation. Nice weather we’re having, and by the way, do you remember when we had sex? Right.

But he’d seen Cas occasionally since then, and he never acted differently, never looked at Dean like he was thinking about how it’d felt to fuck him or gave any indication that he wanted to do it again.

And Dean didn’t know how to react to that, because _he_ thought about it, all the fucking time even though he ordered himself not to, lied to himself and said he didn't, even though he knew better because that was some seriously messed up shit.

And maybe it had started off as unintentional hallucinations when he was so exhausted after having avoided sleep for several nights that he was half out of his mind and couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake. And maybe it had become furtive daydreams when he was exhausted and just needed to get off, because there was only so much he could take and the dreams were still running around in his head. And shit, yeah, maybe it had become something more, full-blown fantasies that had him thrusting against the mattress to the remembered feel of a body pressing him down, only to leave him shaky and disgusted with himself afterward.

He’d known Cas was strong, had seen him in action before, but knowing and feeling how effortlessly he could get his way—kind of tossing Dean around however he’d wanted him, which shouldn’t have been as much of a turn on as it actually was, but fuck, he still got hard thinking about it—were two completely different things.

And he’d been so hot, in and around him, almost too much but never crossing that line. It'd been close more than once though, dancing that line so that Dean had told himself at the time he'd ask Cas to stop with the next thrust, give himself a second to breathe and recover just a little. But he'd never had. Truthfully, each time Cas had started to pull out, Dean had done everything he could to keep him in, clenching around him and grabbing him with his hands, even with how awkward it'd been in the position they'd been in. And no matter how deeply Cas had thrust back inside, all Dean had been able to think about was that it still wasn’t deep enough.

He remembered wanting to be consumed by the fire.

He still wanted it.

He was so fucking screwed.

\-----

“Sam is concerned. He has asked me to intercede on his behalf while he is away.”

Dean blinked, looked up from where he'd been sitting on the couch, staring at who knew what show on the television. “What are you doing here, Cas?”

“As I previously stated—”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t stop by just to check up on me because Sam thinks I’ve got my head up my ass. Don't you have demons to kill or other angels to plot against?”

"Can I not be concerned that you are acting in an unusual manner and have done so during all of our recent interactions?"

Dean's mouth twisted, and he looked away. "Look, it's not—it's nothing. Just some random shit that's been distracting me recently. Can't a guy have some privacy? It's not like it's affecting my work—”

“Dean.” And how the fuck did Cas manage to _do_ that, to get so close so quietly that Dean didn’t realize until it was too late, even though he was always hyperaware of people moving into his personal space?

“Fuck, Cas!” he said, jerking back, knowing even as he did so that he was giving everything away, his reaction not matching up with his previous attempt to dismiss their concerns. Although it was Cas after all. Maybe he wouldn’t notice—

“You remember,” Cas said quietly, shockingly, and that time, it was Cas who moved, putting distance between the two of them.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, wondering what the fuck he was doing denying it, when he’d been waiting for months for Cas to finally bring it up. Because Dean sure as hell hadn’t been able to. And damn it, it looked like he still couldn’t talk about it, even when Cas—

“If it is your wish, I can endeavor to erase the memory from your mind once again. I am confident that another attempt—”

“You want to erase the memory? _Again_?” Dean asked, not believing that shit, shoving himself off the sofa because he didn’t like the way it seemed Cas was looming over him, even though there was a good several feet between them. “Is that it? Is that your fucking answer to things? Let’s pretend it never happened and hope Dean doesn’t accidentally remember again and have another gay freak out? _That’s fucking it_?”

“I am at a loss to understand your current anger with me.” And Cas did look confused. Of course he did. “If not that, then what would you have me do?”

“What would I—” He ran his hands through his hair, gripped handfuls and tugged until it hurt. “Doesn’t it _bother_ you? Don’t you fucking _care_? We had sex! We—”

“It was necessary for your survival.”

“Bullshit! Well . . . fuck, yeah, maybe,” he said, deflating, arms falling to his sides. “I mean . . . fucking you is better than dying. If I had to rank them. I guess. Hard to tell since I can’t remember much.” And okay, that was stretching the truth, considering how much he did remember and how fucking fantastic what he remembered had been. Which was the problem. “You didn’t have to make me forget, Cas!” He glared, grateful to focus his anger on something other than the sex itself. “Why the hell did you—”

“You requested it.”

Dean blinked, mouth still open.

“Should I have denied your request?” Cas asked, starting to frown. “You were most adamant.”

“Why would I . . .” The answer to that question was pretty damn obvious. Fuck. Fuck. He had asked Cas to erase his memory?

Shit. It sounded like something he’d do.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked again plaintively, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and also because he couldn’t understand how fucking _calm_ Cas was being about the whole thing.

“I have done worse things to keep you safe.”

Dean had to look away at that. It was all too true.

“I was upset by the fact that you had been captured and infected with the demon’s essence,” Cas continued, not sounding or acting upset at all. But then, he’d had months to deal with the whole experience without the disadvantage of trying to figure out if the dreams he was having meant he was going crazy. “The sex itself, however, was quite pleasant,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if what happened weren’t messed up even for the kind of lives they led. As if he weren’t talking about the two of them fucking. “Much more so than the experience I had at the house of ill repute you escorted me to.”

“What, the _whorehouse_? You didn’t even take off any of your clothes! You never got around to the sex! You faced the Apocalypse still a virg—” Dean could feel his whole face go slack with horror. “Tell me you weren’t a virgin when we—when you—”

“I have managed to distress you yet again.” Cas’ eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. “It was not my intention to—”

“I don’t believe this.” How could Cas have been a _virgin_? Better yet, how could he have been a virgin and still have been that fucking _good_?

And what would sex be like after he’d had some practice?

Dean shook his head to get rid of that unwanted— _totally unwanted_ —thought.

“I was under the impression that you thought my virginity was something to be rid of—”

“Not with _me_! With . . . you know, someone else! Someone female!”

“Ah,” Cas said, his face clearing. “You object to the homosexual nature of our encounter.”

Dean blinked. Several times. Cas was only just understanding that now?

“Are you concerned about the question of sin? Because—”

“I’m not fucking worried that it was a sin! Damn it, Cas! Will you stop thinking like an angel for one fucking second and think like a—think like a man?”

He had to cover his eyes as Cas’ expression started to wilt. “Have you ever known me to have sex with another guy? Ever seen me kissing one, or hell, even putting my arm around one like I do with women?”

He didn’t bother waiting for a response, knowing Cas still wouldn’t get it. “I’ve never had sex with another guy before. I never _wanted_ to have sex with a guy. I get that you didn’t—it wasn’t like either of us had a choice, but—”

“Was the experience that horrible for you?”

“Huh? What?” He dropped his hand, forced himself to look Cas in the eyes, eyes that were once again closer than he’d expected them to be. “Shit!” He took an instinctive step back, his heel hitting the frame hard enough that he fell on his ass onto the sofa.

“You appeared to enjoy the sex,” Cas said, and he wasn’t really that much in Dean’s space, but he was, standing close enough that he has to look up at him, up and up, immaculately dressed as always, coat making him seem bigger than he really was. At least, it had to be the coat, because he didn’t know what else could be doing it.

“That’s—that’s not the point.” Why the fuck was his voice so weak all of the sudden? And why was he just staring at Cas? Why the hell wasn’t he getting up?

“As I have already suggested, I can attempt to erase the memory from your mind once again.”

“Don’t,” he said softly, swallowing. It was like he literally couldn’t look away from him. He wondered for a panicked second if Cas were reading his mind. But Cas’ expression hadn’t changed, and surely if he were seeing the thoughts in Dean’s head at that moment, he would’ve said something? Would’ve made some shocked or disgusted sound because the images flashing in front of him weren’t things an angel could possibly understand?

“Then what would you have me do?” Cas asked, stepping closer, near enough that Dean could swear he felt the heat of his body against his leg.

“N-nothing.” _Fuck_ , he was starting to get hard. He was starting to get hard from Cas looking down at him while their legs almost touched. And with the way he was sitting with his thighs spread, it’d be impossible for Cas not to see it.

The realization made him even harder.

But then Cas moved away, and it was like Dean could breathe again, his chest shuddering with that first intake of cool air.

“You will inform me if there is anything you need from me.” It wasn’t a question, but Dean made a noise in agreement anyway, just to get Cas out of the door that much faster.

Too close. That had been too fucking close.

\-----

Dean didn’t understand how it could possibly have gotten worse once the dreams finally stopped, but it had. He hadn’t even told Cas about the dreams, so he had no way of knowing if Cas had been behind getting rid of them, but ever since their “heart-to-heart,” he hadn’t had anymore. Not a single damn one.

It should’ve made him happy.

Back when he’d been dreaming, he’d at least had an excuse for thinking about Cas, for not being able to get him out of his head and for having horribly explicit and decidedly not platonic thoughts about him.

He didn’t have that excuse anymore.

And what was worse was that his memories were starting to get fuzzy. Not disappearing again, but fading around the edges, so he couldn’t quite remember the way it had felt when Cas—

Fuck!

He didn’t _want_ the damn memories! He didn’t, but he . . .

He hadn’t wanted any of it. Not for it to happen in the first place, not for thoughts of Cas to take over his head, not to cling to those same damn thoughts once the dreams disappeared.

He couldn’t even jack off without Cas popping into his head. And he’d tried. Oh, how he’d tried. But what would start off as some curvy blonde with tits as big as melons and legs that went on forever would gradually shift until the chest became flat and toned, and soft skin became hard and unyielding.

He should’ve stopped at that point, should’ve taken a cold shower or just suffered the blue balls that came from being too close to orgasm. And he had at first. He had until he hadn’t anymore. Until he’d grit his teeth one day and kept going, hand going faster and faster as Cas took over his thoughts. Until he’d started bringing up the memories on purpose and expanding on them. Until he was looking forward to the sessions, even if they were shadowed with guilt.

But still, he could blame it on that night, because it wasn’t something he would’ve chosen on his own. It was the dreams’ fault that he wanted it.

And then the memories started to fade. And he somehow knew that they would continue to do so over time until they became so distant that he wouldn’t forget them exactly, but he’d be able to choose to ignore them and pretend they’d never existed at all.

He hadn’t wanted the memories.

But he didn’t want them gone either.

He’d never been so fucking confused in his entire life.

\-----

He didn’t know how to act around Cas anymore. He was masturbating on an almost daily basis because of him, but it wasn’t like he could very well tell him that, and he couldn’t fucking stop either.

As far as Cas knew, Dean had hated the sex, didn’t want to ever do it again, wouldn’t ever _think_ about it again. He’d said as much the last time he’d talked to him after all, hadn’t he?

So how could he possibly tell him that he had . . . maybe . . . quite possibly . . . changed his mind? That the thought didn’t disgust him anymore? Far from it in fact. At least when it was with Cas. Because after months of having gay sex dreams, he could understand the appeal, kind of, could even appreciate that a guy was physically attractive, but the only person he actually wanted to have sex with was Cas. Which led him to the important question of, would Cas want to do it again? More than once even. Like, a lot of times actually.

It almost made him wish Cas hadn’t destroyed that damn demon in the first place, so Dean could recreate that night’s events. Because he literally had no fucking clue how to bring up the topic, let alone get into some deep discussion about what he wanted. He hadn’t been able to talk to Cas about it before, even knowing Cas would’ve been able to answer all the questions he’d had. So how was he supposed to do it now, when he wasn’t looking to find out what had happened in the past but wanted to know what could and would happen in the future?

Yeah, no. He’d rather face ten demons without any weapons, blindfolded and with his hands cuffed behind his back than do that.

Which meant he spent a lot of time jacking off instead. It was like being a teenager again.

“Damn it,” he whispered, letting the back of his head hit the wall behind him and gripping his cock tighter until it was almost painful. He jerked at the sensation, but it still wasn’t enough. It felt like he’d been on the edge of orgasm for hours, even though he knew he’d been at for less than ten minutes. It wasn’t the build-up that was the problem. It was the climactic ending that he was missing.

There were times, not every time thankfully, just occasionally, when it was almost impossible to come. He’d been masturbating for years. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to get himself off. Not that it mattered. Because knowing how to do it and actually doing it were two separate things.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He knew a sure fire way to make himself orgasm. He just . . . didn’t like doing it.

There was a big difference in having someone else play with his ass and actively doing it to himself when he was alone. It was like admitting that he actually liked it. No, not liked. That he _needed_ it somehow. Needed it enough that he’d use his own fingers to take the place of Cas’ cock.

“Fuck,” he gasped, shuddering, close enough that just the thought of Cas’ cock made him leak more precome, his grip becoming that much slicker so his hand slid almost off the tip—so fucking sensitive—and he nearly shouted because the sensation was so intense, it was actually painful.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, giving up, giving in, and he didn’t even bother to wet the fingers of his other hand before he was drawing his legs up, head bowed and almost touching his knees. He reached between his thighs, just needing to get filled as quickly as possible, and clenched his eyes shut, imagining something else and ashamed of himself because of it.

“Dean. What are you doing?”

“Cas!” Dean was suddenly moving in a flurry of action as he tried to yank his boxers up from around his thighs and reach for the blanket at the same time. He knew it was useless. Cas had already seen everything he needed to see to know what Dean had been doing. But he couldn’t help himself, wanting some sort of barrier between them, because it wasn’t like his underwear would be enough to hide the erection that still refused to go down. Down? Hell, with Cas in the room, he was closer to coming than he’d been with the tips of his fingers in his ass.

“Fuck! What have I told you about showing up all of the sudden?” he asked, basically shouting, trying not to wince because the band of his boxers was rubbing over his cock since he hadn’t been able to pull them all the way up. The sheet at least gave him some sliver of dignity, but he refused to pull it all the way to his neck, even though that’s what he wanted to do, knowing the heat in his face was showing in a probably spectacular blush down his neck and chest.

“You summoned me.”

“I did not!” he gasped, and shit, could he act any more like a heroine from a cheesy romance novel?

“It was not through normal means,” Cas conceded, and damn it, couldn’t he look embarrassed or outraged or hell, fucking interested or something instead of just watching him? “You have been thinking about me very deeply over the past several days, although you never called out my name and the tenor of your thoughts were not frightened or demanding in your customary way.”

“Yeah well . . .” He kind of squirmed on the bed, because how was he supposed to respond to that? And why the fuck was he still hard? “That doesn’t mean I actually wanted you to show up!”

“Then what did it mean?”

It was like Cas wasn’t even _blinking_.

“Look, this isn’t a good time.” Understatement of the fucking year. “You don’t just walk in on a guy when he’s—I was in the middle of something—”

“You were masturbating.” Cas walked forward until he was at the edge of the bed. “While thinking of me.”

“Was-was not,” Dean said, and okay, not his best comeback, but he didn’t think anyone could blame him, all things considered.

“Yes, you were.”

Cas didn’t give him a chance to offer any more spluttering denials, just started taking off his clothes like it was a perfectly normal thing to do while Dean’s mouth dried from being open for so long and his eyes got bigger and bigger. Cas crawled naked across the bed while Dean was still frozen, gaping and stunned, and it was only when he pulled on the sheet that Dean snapped out of it.

“What the hell are you—?” He couldn’t talk. How the fuck was he supposed to say anything when Cas was kissing him like that, with tongue and teeth like he was conquering Dean, claiming him, his hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck?

He tried though. “Wait, wait, Cas,” he said, even though he didn’t want him to wait, wanted him to keep going and bowl Dean over just like the last time until he couldn’t say no.

“You do not want me to wait.” Cas sat back on his heels and grabbed Dean by his hips, pulling him down so fast that he actually yelped in surprise. A second later, he was flat on his back, his ass tilted up slightly because it was resting on Cas’ knees, his legs falling open and proving to the both of them how little he was actually objecting to what Cas was doing.

It was that revelation, however, combined with his current position—his hard on jutting out over the top of his boxers and his knees framing Cas’ naked torso—that made Dean start to panic.

“Stop!” he shouted, struggling for real.

“You are very confusing,” Cas said as he put his hand on Dean’s chest to keep him from rising. Dean gasped as the heat that he remembered from his dreams began to spread through his body in a dizzying rush, shocking him enough that he stopped fighting.

“I have endeavored to respect your wishes, to block your memory upon your request of the time we had sex, to act as if I have never known your body intimately.” Piercing blue eyes gazed down at him as if from a great height, and the warmth continued to build inside of him. “Even when you informed me that you remembered, I continued to stay away because that is what you wanted, no matter that I could hear you call my name within the recesses of your mind with increasing frequency and urgency as the days passed. But I refuse to ignore it any longer, Dean. You call so loudly that I cannot listen to anything else it seems, that I cannot concentrate, and even though I make no conscious effort to read your thoughts, I can still hear them as clearly as if you were speaking into my ear.”

Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe as Cas looked down on him, lust and humiliation warring with each other. He’d thought he’d hidden it so well.

“You must decide,” Cas said harshly, and Dean always forgot what it was like to see so much—any kind of—emotion in his face. Cas was normally so controlled. But not always, he thought, feeling the muscles quiver in the arm that was pinning him to the mattress. Not always. “I will take the memories once more from you and ensure they never return if that is your choice.”

“And if I don’t want that?” he asked hoarsely, the panic and faint shame of yearning for something that he shouldn’t vanishing completely under a tide of rising excitement from Cas’ words and the way he looked at Dean’s body, like it was just a matter of time before he snapped. He shivered as precome dripped from his cock against his abdomen, knowing from the way Cas’ eyes darted down that he’d seen it.

“Then I will give you what you _do_ want,” Cas told him, his voice low and dark.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean whispered, shuddering, grateful for the hand on his chest that reassured him it wasn’t one of his fantasies, that he wasn’t going to wake up suddenly, unsatisfied and guilty because not only was he thinking about sex with another man, he was thinking of Cas specifically in a way he shouldn’t be. “Do it. Fuck, do it.”

Cas’ hand pressed tighter against his sternum for one second before it was sliding to the bed beside his shoulder as Cas moved forward, his other arm sliding under Dean’s knee and pulling it up so he was bent nearly in half as Cas leaned over to kiss him.

Dean didn’t complain though, couldn’t, not with Cas’ body pressed so tightly to his own, the kisses hard and uncompromising as Cas’ cock found the cleft of Dean’s ass, rubbing against him with unmistakable intent.

“Shit,” Dean whispered when Cas lifted his head and looked down at him. “When you go gay, you go all the way.”

“I am not ‘going gay’ as you call it as I have no intention of doing this with anyone other than you, male or female. But I do not believe in doing things in half-measures,” he said, sitting back once again on his heels. He used that tremendous strength of his to drag Dean up with him until he was straddling Cas’ parted thighs and Dean’s hands were wrapped around his arms for balance. “And I do not understand why it is so, but your thoughts are more lascivious and tempting than anything I have encountered in all my years.”

“Don’t read my mind.” The last word came out strangled as Cas’ hand slid past the band of his boxers, a finger pressing against him.

“As I have already said, your thoughts are so loud, I can hear them as clearly as if you were speaking into my ear. The things you want me to do to you,” Cas murmured against his cheek as Dean jerked, body growing taut as the finger pushed into him, burning and still not enough.

“I don’t—I want—Cas—” he gasped, shuddering as another finger worked its way inside of him before he’d adjusted to the first, without even saliva to make it easier on him. His own fingers were digging into Cas’ arms, his forehead rubbing against his shoulder as he tried to make some sense out of the barrage of conflicting sensations that were too intense for him to be able to decipher if it felt good or not.

“You would allow me to do anything I wanted to you.”

Dean tried to answer, but it was impossible to form words with Cas steadily forcing him open, a broken sound escaping him as Cas reached his prostate.

“Anything at all.”

He whimpered—fucking _whimpered_ —when Cas stopped moving, and he couldn’t understand why at first, shifting and clenching his thighs and ass around him because he hadn’t wanted him to stop, even if it hurt, the pain offering its own brand of relief after months of having nothing.

He tried to grind down against Cas’ hand, but Cas definitely had the advantage of position and leverage, and he didn’t accomplish much except for making himself that much more frustrated.

“Wouldn’t you?” Cas asked, the hand that had been supporting his lower back rising up until it could grip his hair and tug his head back enough so that they were looking at each other.

Dean had frequently been annoyed by Cas’ lack of expression, although continued exposure had given him the ability to read more than most people in the twitch of a muscle or flicker of his eyes. But he thought anyone could have seen the mix of demand and arousal on his face at that moment. It was all Dean could do to not moan in reaction, and he rocked on Cas’ lap, wishing they were closer together so he could get some friction against his cock. He hadn’t even noticed that it wasn’t getting action before when Cas had been . . . doing other stuff, but he was noticing now.

It would have been easy to drop one of his hands down in order to touch himself, and the thought crossed his mind, but he didn’t do it, kept his hands right where they were, and he didn’t stop to consider why that was until much later.

Would he really let Cas do whatever he wanted? Cas had been alive for who the fuck knew how long, had probably seen all kinds of perverted shit in his life, even if he’d never had any experience doing it himself. He’d probably want to try all sorts of filthy, obscene things out. Did Dean really want to give someone free reign to do that kind of stuff to him? Let a _guy_ do it to him? Let _Cas_ do it?

“Yes,” he choked out, the surge of desire nearly strangling him. And when Cas didn’t respond, just continued to watch him, Dean whispered, “Please.”

He almost closed his eyes at the look that passed over Cas’ face then—a mixture of satisfaction and lust and a hint of surprise—but he did close them when Cas’ fingers picked up where they’d left off, rubbing against his prostate with devastating accuracy.

He could feel his eyelashes fluttering as the pleasure spiked through him, and he flushed at the thought of what Cas was seeing. He tried to put his head back on Cas’ shoulder in order to spare himself further embarrassment, but damn Cas and his strength—he kept Dean in place with no effort at all, watching as Dean started rolling his hips unintentionally from the pleasure.

Dean groaned when Cas finally pulled out, wincing slightly at the throbbing in his ass, the aching feeling of being empty. He heard a faint _thunk_ just behind him and wondered at it, but realized Cas had used his powers to get the lube—which was kind of ridiculously hilarious, although Dean didn’t feel like laughing—when he felt cool, slick fingers against his opening, right before they slid back in.

He grunted, barely able to enjoy the feel of them before they were pulling out again. He would’ve objected, opened his eyes to glare even, but then Cas was letting go of his hair at last and urging him up on knees. Cas took the opportunity to yank Dean’s boxers free, the tearing sound of the cotton loud in the quiet room, before positioning Dean over his cock, which he hadn’t even gotten to fucking see—although maybe that was for the best since he only vaguely remembered it from the first time, and he probably didn’t want to linger on how big the damn thing was right before it went up his ass.

It made Dean take a deep breath, the realization that he was going to let Cas fuck him again for no other reason than because he wanted him to.

Sam was going to laugh his head off when he found out.

He took another breath as he felt Cas’ angle his cock so it pressed against him, and his thighs trembled as he got ready to lower himself onto it.

Except Cas’ other hand on his hip kept him from doing so, and he hissed as Cas’ fingers no doubt dug bruises into his skin.

“What the hell are you doing?”

But Cas didn’t answer, still kept watching him, the fucker, blue eyes taking everything in. Cas rotated his wrist so that the head of his cock rubbed in teasing circles against his hole, and Dean could feel himself squirming without meaning to as he tried to follow the movement because he’d already been waiting for _months_ , and he’d decided he was going to do it, and now he just wanted to be fucked, damn it!

He glared at Cas, somehow knowing what he was holding out for even though he still wasn’t saying anything. “ _Please_ ,” he said, although there was mostly frustration and the first hints of anger in his voice that time around than actual begging.

Cas didn’t seem to care.

Dean cried out as Cas thrust into him, gravity taking him down so his ass met Cas’ thighs seconds later, too fast, too full, his arms locked around Cas’ shoulders, his head hidden in the crook of his neck.

And somehow it still wasn’t enough.

“Please,” he whispered again, no anger this time, just need, body ringing with sullen pain. Cas wasn’t moving, was either being considerate and trying to give Dean time to recover, or he was being sadistic and making Dean suffer, because it still wasn’t quite what he remembered, and the fact that it was so close to it just made it worse. “Please fuck me.”

And Cas did, both hands on Dean’s hips, taking even the illusion of control away from him as he shoved his cock as deep as he could into Dean while Dean just held on for the ride, crying out with each plunge.

“Please, Cas, please!”

Every time Dean begged, it seemed to spur Cas on, his thrusts taking on a new violence until Dean was shouting, needing some kind of outlet for the growing tangle of pain and pleasure that kept building inside of him, larger and larger.

“Tell me how much you want this,” Cas demanded, a growl in his ear, and Dean could tell that he was getting close, too, could feel the heat starting to come off him in waves as his command of his powers fractured. He was so hot, so fucking hot, every place they were touching prickling like it would burn Dean if he didn’t get away.

Finally.

“I want it!” Dean nearly yelled, writhing on Cas’ cock like he was trying to escape, even though he’d never been so thankful for the hands that restrained him as Cas pistoned into him. “Fuck me, damn it. Come on, fuck me harder!”

Cas snarled, moved his hands away which led to a frantic moment where Dean was clinging to him with his legs and arms, unwilling to be separated, and then they were falling to the bed, Dean grunting as Cas’ weight landed on him, his cock jabbing into him uncomfortably, although even that was good in its own weird way.

It got even better in a hurry, however, as Cas started fucking him for real, doing just what Dean had wanted and thrusting hard enough that he had a split second to know that he wouldn’t be going out for his normal evening run, would be lucky if he could even get out of bed the next day.

Dean’s back arched off the mattress, legs falling open because he couldn’t hold on any longer, couldn’t keep up, just took everything Cas gave to him and was desperate for more. He didn’t recognize the sounds he was making, tried to stop from making them, but failed there, too.

Orgasm was sudden and brutal, light and heat and pleasure so fierce that it felt like it was ripping through him, leaving him shaking and gasping for every breath. It seemed to last forever, Cas still pumping into him, each subsequent thrust wringing a helpless moan out of him and making him spasm and jerk as everything became sharper and even more intense.

“Hurry,” Dean panted, body twisting underneath Cas, needing Cas to come, not sure he could handle another second. “Fuck, hu-hurry.”

“But you do not want me to hurry,” Cas said, barely out of the breath, the bastard, and he slowed his hips down, purposefully grinding against Dean’s prostate, even though he hadn’t made much effort to do so during the actual sex. “That is not what you are thinking at all.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dean whimpered weakly, his cock twitching and unbelievably starting to get hard again, and he closed his eyes, giving himself up to whatever Cas wanted of him.

\----

 _“So I’m okay now?” Dean asks, slurs really, not able to look at Cas, not even able to move from his sprawl on the fucking bed. He isn’t sure that’s the right word to use, doesn’t know that anything that’s happened can qualify as okay. He still feels cold, although it’s nothing like it was before, and it might be in comparison to how hot he felt when Cas was—_

 _Shit. He’s not going to think about it. He’s not, not now, not later, not thinking about how he’s still twitching with the aftershocks, limp and bruised from Cas—_

 _Not thinking about it._

 _“You are no longer in danger of dying.”_

 _He can tell Cas is standing near the bed, knows he probably impeccably dressed once again, not a hair out of place. He thinks he might just hate him._

 _“You have marks from your captivity. Let me heal—”_

 _“No! I don’t care about them. Leave them alone.” The last thing he wants is for Cas to touch him again, for Cas’ hands—_

 _He finds the energy to curl up, pulling the blanket Cas covered him with tighter around his body._

 _“What I want is to forget this night ever happened.” He still can’t look at Cas, doesn’t know what he’d do or say if he did, and he doesn’t want to find out. “Is that possible? Can you make me forget?”_

 _There’s a long pause in which Dean tries to think of nothing at all._

 _“If that is your wish, I believe I can do so. I cannot guarantee its success, however.”_

 _Maybe it’s just Dean’s imagination, but Cas sounds even stiffer than usual. Of course, this wasn’t typical for him either and can’t have been . . . hell, fun? Good? Right? Sane?_

 _“Just do it.” Anything’s better than—than this. He doesn’t even know what to say to Cas, and he keeps thinking about— “Please.”  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this fic requires an explanation. Back in, oh, October or so, selvatori won my offering for help_pakistan. Now, I don’t know if anyone remembers, but it was around that time that my muse left me, so even though I had wonderfully good intentions, I ended up writing a quick seven page update to a fic I’d started a while back intending for the next chapter to be much longer, but . . . Ahem.
> 
> Anyway, while selvatori originally requested a continuation of one of my fics in an old fandom, since then, she’s fallen in love with Supernatural, so filled with guilt because of how long I was taking, I offered to write her SPN fic. Which is where this comes from. Even though I’ve never seen a single episode of SPN. >_> So this fic, while it has canonish leanings, is technically AU since I’m sure I got stuff wrong. And it’s probably OOC. And, you know, random.
> 
> But I hope you enjoy it anyway, selvatori! I tried to include as many of your prompts as I could (I won’t say which ones since it makes you blush, lol). Thank you so so so much for being patient with me and for your generous donation. *blows kisses*


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